


Bound

by Scribo_Vivere, Twisted_Slinky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribo_Vivere/pseuds/Scribo_Vivere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Slinky/pseuds/Twisted_Slinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a case in rural New Mexico on reservation land, the brothers soon realize their biggest enemy may be one a blade can't destroy: loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> It was a joy and an honor to work with Twisted_Slinky on this project! I'm so glad I had this wonderful chance to collaborate with such a talented artist and a wonderful person!

For all that Dean was used to varying conditions in their line of work, he had to admit that goddamn it, New Mexico was still warm, even for the beginning of the winter months.  
The hunt-if it could truly be called such-they were currently on was slightly off of their beaten path. A surprise phone call had caught Sam off-guard four days prior, the voice on the other end requesting a favor. It seemed that in his younger days, John had saved the life of a Navajo chief, and in return he had sworn blessing and protection on all Winchester generations to come; the only thing he asked in return was that aid be given when needed. Now, the grandson of the chief appeared to be experiencing signs of a haunting, and he’d pleaded that the brothers come out to investigate, which was how they’d ended up leaving the comfort of the bunker and heading south for as long as the case took to solve. Kevin was in charge, with Charlie on speed dial if things got hairy.   
Dean drove while Sam flipped through the file of information he’d gathered, sparse as it was. It felt like old times, he thought, glancing over at Dean. No fallen angels come to wreak hell on earth, no war in Heaven-just him and his brother, cruising the back roads of America in search of evil and a way to stop it.  
“So what exactly are we looking at?”  
Stirred from his reverie, Sam thumbed over a page.  
“The Navajo are a well-recognized tribe in the Southwest. We’re going to the Alamo Navajo Indian Reservation. It’s in Socorro County, New Mexico. The guy that called me is named Andrew Five Waters. His grandfather-the one Dad helped out-was Joseph Black Wolf.”  
“Was? Joseph’s dead?”  
Sam frowned and shook his head, and Dean glanced at him. “What is it? I know that look, Sam.”  
“Andrew wouldn’t say whether Joseph was dead or not. Usually a guy’s either breathing or he isn’t, but Andrew was being kind of...cagey about the whole thing, actually. When I tried to push the issue, he just asked me to come out here with you and left it at that. He said it was important.”  
“Are we talking possession here? A murder that someone’s trying to cover up?”  
Sam shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”  
“Great,” Dean groused. “Nothing I like better than going in half-informed. Continue.”  
“Apparently there’s been weird stuff happening at the reservation, too. Things going missing, minor accidents happening, things like that. But no one’s died yet, and that’s the odd part. Usually with the hauntings we get, someone ends up in an early grave.”  
Dean glanced at him again.  
“What are you thinking?” His eyes were piercing.  
“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “It’s a strange case, but we can’t really make any decisions until we-”  
“I meant, what are you thinking?” Dean interrupted him, and Sam raised an eyebrow.   
“I’m trying to tell you what I think, Dean. What’s gotten into you, anyway? Lately every time you ask me a question it’s like you’re looking at someone else. It’s really creepy, and if I didn’t know better I’d think-”  
Dean didn’t get to hear what Sam thought, because at that moment his brother took a back seat. The elder Winchester watched as the angel under Sam’s skin became pilot, the subtle shift in his sibling’s posture and the alien expression in his eyes making clear the fact that Sam had gone off for a nap.  
“You continue to risk your brother finding out with your words. You must choose them more carefully.”  
“Well, unless I flat-out use your name to summon you to the driver’s seat, I have no choice,” Dean bit out. “You think I like doing this, keeping secrets from Sam? We promised each other back at the church that that was over.”  
“And yet you have broken that promise.”  
Dean’s jaw tightened. “You were the one that told me it was for the best that Sam doesn’t know you’re inside his skull. You said yourself if he finds out, he’ll banish you and die. And speaking of banishing, nice job with Cas. That whole ‘you-just-got-here-and-now-you’ve-gotta-leave’ chat went awesome.”  
Ezekiel’s eyes flicked away for a moment. “I am sorry, Dean. It was not my intention to drive a wedge between yourself and Castiel.”  
“Let me ask you something,” Dean snarled. “Fallen or not, Cas is still your brother. So just answer me this-how can you throw him out into the streets, knowing he’ll be hunted down and killed, and not have a single second thought about it?”  
Ezekiel’s voice was quiet when he spoke again.  
“I have done what I deemed best. You above all must know what that is like.”  
Dean’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “Listen, pal. You don’t get to tell me why I do what I do, or whether it’s right or wrong. We’re talking about you here, and what you did to Cas? It’s insane, it’s heartless, and it’s probably going to get him killed.”  
The angel gazed at him steadily.  
“And yet you showed no restraint or remorse when you broke the news to him that he must leave. How far off the mark is it, Dean Winchester, to say that your brother will always come before anyone else in your life, no matter how much you care for them?”  
Dean didn’t have an answer for that. How was he supposed to fire back at such a weighted question? Despite knowing how much it would hurt Castiel, he had thrown him out on his ass without reserve. Why? Because Ezekiel had given him an ultimatum, yes, but what did that say about how he really felt about Cas? Had Kevin’s words been right after all? Did he see those closest to him as nothing more than useful tools in a war that he wasn’t certain they had a chance of winning anymore? Did he need them because of their skills, or because, as John Winchester had said long ago, he and Sam were family, and you did what you had to for family?   
“I only seek to help you discern the truth,” Ezekiel said gently, but Dean shook his head once, an abrupt, outward show of denial.  
“I’m starting to think that all you seek is a means to your own ends, Ezekiel.”  
For long moments the car was silent, until Dean said brusquely, “Are you going to tell me what to expect on this case, or am I going to have to find that out myself?”  
“All I can tell you is that it will test the limits of your endurance, in all ways.”  
Well, that’s friggin’ comforting, Dean thought, a tad bitterly, and then, as though a switch had been flipped (and quite literally, it had been), Sam was back.  
“-that you were starting to go mental or something. Throwing Cas out was a bad idea, man, but if it’s affecting you this much, maybe you should talk about it.”  
The conversation picking up as casually as though it had never left off made Dean swallow back bile. It constantly gave him the chills how nonchalant Sam was about Ezekiel hitch-hiking inside his body.   
_Why wouldn’t he be? ___a nasty little voice in the back of his mind whispered. As long as you keep it from him, he’ll never know.  
*  
The final afternoon leg of their journey flew by in shades of golden sun and dry, wide landscapes, until the Impala rumbled into the Reservation at sunset against a backdrop of purple clouds, deepening to indigo with the rapidly approaching twilight.   
Dean cut the engine, and Sam watched with amusement as a group of young boys that had been kicking a soccer ball back and forth across the grounds halted their game to stare wide-eyed at the gleaming black car.  
“I think you have some tiny admirers,” Sam chuckled, getting out after his brother and leaning against the passenger side door. He glanced at Dean, curious to see what his sibling would do. Dean had always been notoriously protective of his car, but Sam knew he also had a soft heart for children.   
Sure enough, Dean crouched by the grille, beckoning them over.  
“Come on,” he said gently. “She doesn’t bite, and neither do I.”  
One by one, the boys inched closer, until Dean could have reached out and touched them if he’d wanted to. None of them seemed willing to make the final step, until the tallest boy marched forward and put his hand firmly on the Impala’s hood, his eyes meeting Dean’s in a challenging way as he spoke in an unfamiliar tongue. Delighted, Dean laughed outright.  
“You like her?” he grinned, and the boy spoke again, punctuating it with a fierce nod.  
Sam couldn’t help but grin himself. The boy was Dean in every way.  
“Excuse me, are either of you the Winchesters?”  
The new voice was female, and both brothers turned in its direction. Headed their way was a young, beautiful woman, with long black hair and deep brown eyes. A patterned shawl was wrapped around her shoulders to ease off the slight coolness of the evening.  
Dean spoke first. “We are. And you would be…?” He left the question open, and she smiled.   
“My name is Laura. My brother has been expecting you. There is a meal set out in our home. Please, come.” She turned, and Sam and Dean followed close behind.  
Sam noticed that Dean’s eyes kept wandering, much as they did when he was sussing out something of the supernatural. Softly, he asked, “What’s up?”  
“I don’t know,” Dean replied in the same quiet tone. “I feel like there’s something tracking my movements.”  
“Just yours?”  
“Yeah. Just mine.”  
Sam did a quick once-over of their surroundings, but shook his head. “I don’t see anything, Dean. You might just be jumpy.”  
“Maybe,” Dean agreed. “It’s unfamiliar territory. I probably just have to get used to being in wide open spaces.”  
“At least we didn’t need a plane to get here,” Sam quipped, which earned him a well-deserved punch to his forearm.  
High above them in the bluffs, a lone black bird sat watching them, its beady eyes following the older Winchester until he was out of sight.  
*  
When they reached the house, a tall middle-aged man with hair to his shoulders and a broad build rose from his place at the low table, around which were three other men and an older woman. Dean realized that this must be Andrew Five Waters. He noticed at once the gravity in his eyes, and knew that this was a man who had seen much in his lifetime.   
“ _Shilah;_ brothers,” he greeted them warmly. “Thank you for joining us. Please, sit and eat. What little we have, we offer to share. You must be hungry from your journey.”  
Sam’s mouth watered as he took in the array of fresh fish, stew, and cornbread laid out to feast upon. Gratefully, the Winchesters joined the group, and for some moments there was a companionable silence as Laura served them and they ate. Afterward, at a soft word in their host’s tongue, she and the other woman retreated, leaving the six men to speak alone.  
“We cannot properly express our gratitude for your willingness to help,” Andrew began, once the women were out of earshot. “There have been many strange happenings as of late.”  
“When you say ‘strange’, what do you mean?” Sam asked, and Andrew’s eyes met his. For a moment, something registered in the Navajo’s expression that chilled Dean to the core. It was as if Andrew was seeing right through Sam’s soul to who he really was.  
Or rather, the creature he was being inhabited by.  
The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Dean breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when Andrew spoke as though he’d noticed nothing (and perhaps he hadn’t). “Our people have always believed in other worlds, Sam Winchester. We are not foolish enough to think that this fleeting existence is all that remains. Many tales have been told of our ways, but what matters is that there are many pathways through which one can enter the spirit world.” Andrew paused to take a long, slender cigar one of the other men passed him and inhaled. When he breathed out, the sweet smell of vanilla and spices floated toward them. “There are also ways in which the spirits can enter ours. We believe that is what has occurred.”  
“You mean a haunting?” Dean clarified, and Andrew shook his head.   
“We do not recognize this word; ‘haunting’. Most spirits are not malevolent by nature. Some are mischievous, as a child would be when playing. That is to be expected. Others are helpful. But there are few that would willingly cause harm. I fear that this is where our two worlds will collide. You and your brother are used to dealing in destruction and death. Our way of life is one of harmony and peace.”  
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Dean found himself unable to form a decent response. Andrew was right, he thought. Their entire life had been marred by evil and terror. The Navajo had never known horror such as they had seen it. For all of their sakes, Dean hoped they never would.  
Andrew was speaking again.  
“How much do you know about Raven?”  
Now it was Dean’s turn to shake his head. “Not much, unfortunately-at least not in your terms.”  
Andrew drew on the pipe again. “He is a creature of transformation and metamorphosis. He is also known to be a formidable trickster, although we are not concerned with that aspect of his personality at this time.”  
“Wait,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “Are you saying that you think Raven is involved in all of these incidents you discussed briefly with me on the phone? You’re telling us he isn’t a trickster type, but aren’t you even a little concerned that could be part of the problem here?”   
Andrew stared at him calmly.  
“Raven has his own methods. It is not our place to attempt to discern them all. We cannot step in when it is not our place.”  
Sam seemed to contemplate that, as much as it seemed to bother him, and while he did, Dean had a question for Andrew.  
“My brother mentioned that your grandfather passed away? Is that why he isn’t here to advise us with you?”  
Dean watched Andrew’s face carefully, and sure enough, the Navajo’s expression shuttered.   
“Yes,” he said slowly, as though it pained him to speak of it. “ _Análi_ was a great man.”  
Sam seemed to catch on to what Dean was getting at, and he said, “”Would you mind if we visited his grave? We’d like to pay our respects.”  
If it was possible, Andrew’s expression closed off even more. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m afraid that is not possible. I am sure you will understand the need for my family’s privacy.”  
“Of course,” Sam replied immediately, but the glance he threw in Dean’s direction when Andrew wasn’t looking said it all.   
The man who had handed Andrew the pipe spoke then. “Perhaps we should show our guests where they may stay for their time here. The night will soon begin in full.”   
Andrew gave a nod. “Indeed.” He rose then, and the three men followed suit, Sam and Dean standing last of all. Andrew reached out and gripped each of their hands in turn.  
“May the Great Spirit watch over your sleep.”  
“Thanks; you too,” Sam said, and Dean nodded to Andrew as they followed a different member of the group across the darkened grounds to one of the pueblos where they would reside.  
Once more, Dean got the distinct feeling he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck rising, he slid a hand into his belt to make sure he still had his knife-although, if everything Andrew had been saying was the truth, a blade of steel wasn’t going to be much help against something he had never had to deal with before.  
*  
The interior of the pueblo was small, but it was warm, and the two beds had clean, comfortable sheets. As Sam stripped down to his boxers and a tee shirt, Dean stood staring out of the window at the cool Southwestern night, his expression pensive. Sam noticed his fingers were rhythmically stroking the hilt of the knife, albeit probably without his knowledge.  
“I don’t think that anything is going to attack us,” he said softly.  
“You can’t be too careful, Sammy,” Dean said, voice neutral. “Especially doing what we do.”  
Sam gazed at him for a moment, and then said, “Andrew’s really got you riled up, hasn’t he?”  
“Something’s off about him.” Dean shook his head. “I just don’t think he was telling us everything, Sam.” He moved to the other bed and sat, bending to unlace his boots. “You said yourself he was ‘cagey’ on the phone, and now he doesn’t want to talk about his dead grandfather? It just doesn’t make sense that he would refuse.” Dean removed his shirt, and after his head emerged again, he frowned. “Another thing-Andrew didn’t want us near the body. That also doesn’t fit with what I’ve heard. These people celebrate a life, and they don’t try to hide it by refusing to visit a grave.”  
Sam considered. “Actually, Dean, the Navajos are very protective of their way of life. The Navajo Nation is basically one big tourist spot, and they’re trying to protect it with everything they have. Besides, even if you’re half right, how do we approach Andrew about all this?”  
“Same way we always have, Sam,” Dean said shortly. “We treat it like any other hunt.”  
As Sam flicked off the dim bedside lamp, his words carried weight throughout the darkened room.  
“We can’t treat it like any other hunt, Dean, because it’s not. This isn’t our land, our people, or our culture. We’re bound by their rules.”  
*  
 _  
The field was warm and bright, the sun beating down on the back of Dean’s neck unmercifully as he walked through the short grass. An uncanny feeling had settled in his chest, as though there was something he was meant to see-although what it was, he did not know.  
For a long while he did nothing but follow the flat landscape, his footsteps the only sound. He had given up hope of ever discovering why he was blindly traipsing around in the midday heat when movement to his left caught his eye.  
At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a hazy mirage, but as Dean grew closer, he saw that it was a gleaming black bird, its feathers giving off a black-blue iridescence as it turned, tracking him with startlingly intelligent eyes. Dean’s chest tightened more, and deep in his bones he knew that somehow, this was what he had been searching for.  
The bird continued to watch him, although this time it looked back over its shoulder before meeting his gaze again, as though trying to inform Dean it had something of utmost importance to show him. When Dean did not move from his spot, the bird let out a low croak and hopped away, clearly inviting him to follow.  
Unsure and wary, but unable to ignore the compulsion he felt, Dean did exactly that. Incredibly, the bird never flew, continuing to hop from one piece of ground to the other, every so often peering over its shoulder again, as if checking to make sure the hunter was still there.  
At long last, bird and man came to what appeared to be a narrow body of water of some sort. Dean could hardly breathe for the band around his ribcage, one that clearly signified something was very, very wrong.   
When he turned back to search for the bird, it had vanished.  
_  
*  
Dean awoke to Sam’s tall frame shaking him insistently, and he groaned, swatting his brother’s massive paws away from his shoulder.  
“I’m up, I’m up,” he muttered, fumbling with the blankets. “What’s the matter? What time is it?”  
“A little after seven-thirty,” Sam answered, and the tone of his voice instantly cleared any remaining cobwebs from Dean’s head. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “We’ve got a problem.”  
“What?” His brother caught the clean shirt Sam tossed to him and began to button it with rapid, nimble fingers.  
“Andrew woke me at five-thirty,” Sam said. “One of the boys on the reservation disappeared sometime in the middle of the night. His name is Joshua, and he’s only six years old.”  
Something hard and heavy twisted in Dean’s gut, and he raked a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”  
Sam’s expression was haggard. “I know. I’ve been trying to wake you since six o’clock.”  
Dean blinked, in the process of lacing up his other boot. “Excuse me?”  
“I shook you over and over again, but you never even batted an eyelid. It’s like you were in a coma or something, man.”  
That alone was enough to give Dean a massive case of the chills, but his sudden desperate need for more than the usual six hours he allotted himself on a hunt wasn’t top priority right now. Sliding his gun into the back of his jeans, Dean followed Sam out into the damp, overcast day and across the reservation.  
“Where are we headed?” he asked.  
“The Community Service Center,” Sam replied as they strode along. “That’s where Andrew asked that we meet with him and the elders.”  
“The elders?” Dean shot Sam a look that clearly said he didn’t like where this was going.  
Sam sighed. “Like I told you last night, Dean, this is their land and their rules. Andrew said the elders are responsible for all the major decisions that take place here. Since Joshua has gone missing, they’re meeting to decide what to do about it.”  
“What they need to do is let us handle it,” Dean snapped. “That’s why Andrew called you in the first place, isn’t it-to figure out whatever’s going on here? Or is he in on all this creepy shit too?”  
“Dean!” Sam hissed, as they came within arms’ reach of the Center and his brother’s voice could be heard echoing off the adobe walls. “Would you hold your damn tongue for once? The last thing we need is for you to offend anyone!”  
“Listen, Sam, all I’m saying is that I don’t trust them,” Dean replied, although this time in a slightly quieter tone. “There are things here that aren’t adding up, and if we don’t get the full story then it’s going to endanger more people than just that poor kid. If they’re keeping information from us, now would be a great time to spill the beans.”  
Both Sam and Dean pulled up short as they came face to face with Andrew at the door to the Center. Judging by the look in his eyes, Sam figured he must have heard some of what Dean had been spouting off about, and Sam suddenly wanted very much to throttle his brother.  
“Good morning,” the Navajo said gravely. “Please, follow me inside. There is much to discuss.”  
*  
Dean had to admit that he did feel a little guilty about what he’d said. He hoped Andrew didn’t throw them off the reservation for it, but in reality, everyone needed to step back and let the Winchesters do their job.  
From the moment they stepped through the Center’s doors, Dean could feel the atmosphere in the room shift from casual and everyday to absolutely otherworldly. He tensed, but Andrew gently laid a hand on his arm.  
“Do not fear,” he said softly, and when Dean followed his gaze, he noticed a group of seven men, all of whom were quite older than they, seated on couches in a secluded back area. He wondered if that was where the feeling of raw energy was coming from, but before he had a chance to ask the question, Sam beat him to it.  
“Are those the elders?” he said to Andrew quietly, and the Navajo nodded once, stepping forward wordlessly.  
A man with a weathered, much-lined face and snow-white hair that hung in two braids over his shoulders met Dean’s gaze directly as he took a seat. The hunter froze as he spoke, the words sending chills down his spine. The elder’s voice was soft, but carried unmistakable power.  
“This one has seen him.”  
Every eye in the room was suddenly on Dean, including Sam’s, but only his brother’s were confused. Dean swallowed.  
“What are you talking about? Seen who?” he demanded.  
“Lone Wolf speaks the truth,” Andrew said after a moment in quiet, awestruck reverence. “Raven’s mark is upon you.”  
“Whoa, wait,” Dean said, around a throat that was suddenly very dry. “I’m nothing special. Why would Raven want anything to do with me?”  
The elder’s blue eyes were very clear. “It is often those who think themselves nothing that Raven chooses to carry out his work.”  
Dean’s heart was jack-hammering in his chest. “But I’m not like you,” he insisted. “I’m your opposite in every way, and besides, we don’t even have any proof that he’s...he’s marked me, or whatever you called it.”  
“Actually, we might,” Sam said quietly, and all eyes now turned in his direction. Bracing his hands on his knees, Sam asked, “Is it true that one of the ways Raven marks someone is by giving them a vision?” When Andrew indicated his agreement, Sam continued, “And is it also true that the person having the vision from Raven settles into a trance-like or coma-like state?”  
“It can occur, yes.”  
Sam blew out a soft breath and looked at Dean. From the wild expression on his brother’s face, he knew his sibling was remembering their conversation from earlier that morning.  
“ _I’ve been trying to wake you...you never even batted an eyelid. It’s like you were in a coma or something, man.”_  
“Not to burst your bubble, but I thought this meeting was about Joshua,” Dean said tightly. “We have a missing six year old to find. I’d prefer to worry about the boxing match between me and Raven later.”  
Lone Wolf’s gaze held Dean’s long enough for the other man’s skin to prickle with goosebumps, but he did not argue, choosing instead to produce a map-mostly for the Winchesters’ benefit-and detail how the group would split up and search for the boy. In the end, it was decided that Andrew, Dean, and four elders-Seven Stars, White Cloud, Running Brook and Black Crow-would fan out over Cibola and Socorro counties, which included Cibola National Forest and the Kiowa National Grassland, and Sam and the remaining three elders would cover Catron County.   
“It is much area to examine,” Andrew explained, “but he is only a child. He cannot be lost to us.”  
Watching the heavy expression on Sam’s face that he knew must be mirrored in his own, Dean couldn’t agree more.  
*  
They started in the higher elevations of the Cibola National Forest, but as the morning drew to a close and there was no sign of Joshua, Dean’s mind began to lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow. The kid was only six, after all, and there were drop-offs and passes that weren’t friendly to anyone their age, much less a very young boy wandering around lost.  
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked out of the corner of his mouth, coming up beside Dean as they slipped and slid over rough rock.  
Dean glanced back at the elders, keeping his voice low. “Somehow I don’t think they’re going to like this, but they know this area more than we do. We’re going to have to leave them here and split up. Me, you, and Andrew are going to need to head to that other place-Kiowa Grasslands or whatever.”  
Sam gave his brother a deep, searching look, and Dean bit out, “What?”  
“Nothing,” Sam said, in a tone of voice that clearly meant it was something. Dean stopped, turning to face Sam, and his expression let Sam know better than to screw around. Sam sighed.  
“It’s just...I don’t want you to feel responsible if something happens to Joshua, Dean. We’re doing our best-”  
“Who said anything is going to happen to him?” The words were so fierce that Sam blinked.   
“No one did. But he is only six, Dean, and he’s been missing since last night. The longer we don’t find him, the worse our chances get that we will. You know that-we all do.”  
“Find him alive, you mean.” Dean’s voice had taken on a hard, bitter edge, and Sam raised his hands slightly.   
“I’m not trying to assume the worst. I’m just looking at this realistically.”  
“So am I,” Dean snarled, so loudly that Andrew and Lone Wolf looked over, their conversation interrupted. “Joshua isn’t even seven years old. If you think I’m going to give up now, you’re wrong. If I have to search all day for him, by myself, I will. If you want to stay behind, that’s your choice.”  
Before Sam could gather his stunned thoughts into some semblance of a coherent reply, his brother had started down the side of the slippery incline.  
“Dean, wait-” he called out, but a touch of a hand to his shoulder gave him pause. It was Lone Wolf.  
“Let him go,” he said, knowing blue eyes following Dean’s descent. “We may yet be led in the right direction.”  
Concerned about Joshua and worried about Dean’s mental state-the sun was getting higher and hotter as the morning clouds had burned off, and missing children had always taken a toll on Dean-Sam glowered at the Navajo elder.  
“You think Raven is orchestrating this? That he’s leading Dean toward Joshua somehow?”  
“There is only one way to discover that,” Lone Wolf said pointedly, and heaving a sigh, Sam carefully navigated his way down the path after them both.  
*  
He had to be losing his mind.  
That was the only explanation Dean could come up with for the sudden compulsion to drag himself all over the Southwest that afternoon, with hardly any food and very little water, to find a missing child that he was certain had already been dead for hours. The heat alone was enough to make a grown man hallucinate, never mind kill off a small, unattended child.  
 _No, Dean thought fiercely. Joshua’s not dead. He can’t be. If he was, that would mean they had failed._   
That he had failed.  
Shielding his eyes from the heaven's unforgiving rays, Dean trudged forward relentlessly across the area, seeking any sign that the boy was still out there somewhere waiting to be located. Cursing as he tripped over a rock and landed hard on one knee, Dean fought the bubbling hysteria that threatened to overwhelm him and stared at the bloody dirt patch blossoming on his shin.  
To his left was nothing but water, the rim of the Canadian River Canyon. It was beautiful to look at, and on any other day Dean would have stopped to admire it, but not now. Stomach churning slightly as he peered over the vast area, he glimpsed a shadow out of the corner of his eye and turned abruptly, nearing losing his footing.  
It was a rather large black bird, sitting unobtrusively on a nearby rock, quite obviously staring at him. Dean blinked twice, wondering if his mind was truly giving out on him, but as the bird’s gaze didn’t waver, he was forced to admit that it was indeed waiting for him to do something.  
That thought alone made him snort, and he wiped a runnel of sweat from the corner of his brow, throat dry and parched. To his amazement, as he moved a few paces south, the bird hopped off the rock and headed north, glancing back as though trying to tell him he was going the wrong way.   
Dean paused, staring. _You’ve got to be kidding me._  
Once again, he moved southward, and this time the bird croaked loud and low, almost in consternation. Something hard and heavy had settled in Dean’s gut, and he decided to follow a hunter’s instinct.  
When he took four steps toward the bird, it appeared satisfied, and cold chills blossomed on Dean’s spine, a stark contrast to the outside temperature. _Something was definitely going on here._  
The bird refused to fly, still hopping from place to place, and it wasn’t until Dean reached the bottom of the canyon that he realized it was the remains of some type of residence from days gone by. There were the remnants of a homestead, with a leaning roof and one remaining wall that was made up almost entirely of branches and grass at this point, and many trees that appeared to be apple and flourishing well. Dean could see what looked like sheep wandering around in the upper bluffs if he craned his neck.  
It was all quite scenic, but Joshua was still missing, and the sun was beginning to ride a little lower in the sky. It would be dark soon, and they would have to call off the search. Despairing, Dean pulled out his cell phone and was about to relay the bad news back to Sam, Andrew, and Lone Wolf up higher on the trail when he heard the telltale sound of a child’s laughter, and his heart stopped beating for a moment.  
As he gazed across the area, searching for the noise, he saw a young Navajo boy careening through the grass after three very unhappy bleating sheep, waving a greenstick clothed with red berries. At once he knew it was Joshua, and relief poured through him in waves, sending him to his knees on the earth.  
He was dimly aware of the sudden sounds of Lone Wolf calling out to him- _how did they get here so fast?_ -but he couldn’t reply. The last thing he saw before exhaustion overtook him was the black bird that had guided him the entire way, perched in a bush mere feet from him, gazing at him calmly.  
*  
For the fourth time in an hour, Sam attempted to get into the Community Center to see his sibling, but was prohibited by Andrew. Fire in his eyes, the younger Winchester drew the Navajo aside.   
“I don’t understand,” he said sharply. “I need to talk to Dean. I don’t know what happened today, but whatever did, it obviously was something major. Why can’t I see him?”  
Andrew’s response was gentle. “The elders are with him now. Raven has guided your brother today in the finding of Joshua. It is a matter that requires careful consideration. We have already explained to him that he is marked. There is no telling what else Raven may see fit to do.”  
Sam blew out a frustrated breath. “I get all that, but Dean is exhausted. Can’t all of this wait until he’s a little more rested?”  
Andrew seemed to have a reply ready, but at that moment Dean’s cell phone, which Sam had taken from his brother as a precaution, began to ring. Glancing at the caller ID, Sam’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.  
“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he apologized to Andrew, who simply nodded and turned away. After putting the phone to his ear, Sam said quietly, “I thought you and Dean weren’t on speaking terms anymore, Cas.”  
The ex-angel’s voice was surprised and a little forced. “I was not expecting you to answer his phone. I was told this number would only be answered by Dean himself.”  
“We aren’t in the U.S. right now,” Sam admitted, leaving out the part about Dean being currently incapacitated, or whatever the elders were doing with him at that moment. “We’re working a case on reservation land in New Mexico, and we aren’t sure how long it’s going to take. Is everything okay with you?”  
“It is...manageable.” Castiel sounded like he was lying, and hey, Sam couldn’t blame him-being hunted by your fallen brothers in a world that was literally going to hell had to suck, and even more so when the person you thought you could trust had dumped you out on your ass. “Is there any way I can be of assistance to you and your brother?”  
Sam considered. Cas had always been a valuable research asset, but he wasn’t sure there was much he could do on this aspect of the case. Although…  
“Actually, there is,” he said, making his decision.  
“What?” Castiel sounded surprised at Sam’s frank deliberateness, and Sam was even surprised himself at what he decided to ask next.  
“I think Dean is hiding something from me. I don’t know what it is, and he won’t tell me, but I need you to see if you can figure out what it is. Every time he looks at me lately it’s like he’s looking at a ghost, and he keeps asking weird questions-like there’s suddenly two or three of me instead of one. It’s creeping me out, and after everything we’ve been through I just…” Sam paused and tipped his head back to stare at the moonlit sky, feeling sad. “I don’t want everything we said at the church to fall through. We’ve worked so hard to build trust again, and I can’t watch us lose that. Not again.”  
“I’m not sure what I can do without concrete evidence he is hiding anything…” Castiel hedged, and Sam sighed, knowing that when Dean found out, he would knock his brother on his ass.  
“Could you make a trip out here? We could use another set of eyes and ears, anyway, and I think it might give you and Dean time to patch some things up-whatever they might be,” he hastily added, and then thought, _Jesus, there’s too many damn secrets in this family._  
“You wish for me to leave my job and residence and travel to you?” Castiel asked hesitantly, and yeah, Sam knew it was a lot, but like he’d said, they could use the extra help. And if that meant Dean would quit being so cagey around him…  
“Would you mind?” Sam asked, trying not to plead, and Cas cleared his throat.  
“I suppose not. There is a high possibility I can be there before evening two days from now.”  
“Thank you, Cas,” Sam said earnestly. “This means a lot.”  
“I would not thank me yet,” Castiel said seriously after a beat. “Nothing has been resolved.”  
As they hung up the phone, for some reason Sam couldn’t chase away the goosebumps that drifted over his body at Castiel’s words.  
*  
Dean rolled over in the bed with a pounding skull and groped blindly for his phone, only to hear a very familiar voice that should not have been there _at all_ say, “It is in your jacket pocket.”  
Cracking an eye, Dean incredulously murmured, “Cas, what the hell are you doing here?”  
Castiel didn’t answer for a moment, and Dean wondered if this was one of those times he was having another dehydration dream. But when his friend spoke again-and Dean would always think of Castiel as a friend, no matter what transpired between them-the older Winchester knew as soon as he felt better he was going to have to find Sam and kill him.  
“I...determined it best to offer my services.”  
“In other words, Sam asked you to come out here,” Dean snapped, and Castiel’s stony silence instantly made Dean feel bad.  
“I can return if you wish,” he said simply, and Jesus, why was this so hard? Dean thought. He’d spent so much time with the guy, and they’d given so much for each other. It shouldn’t be like pulling teeth to try to talk to him.   
“I didn’t mean it like that, Cas,” he tried, but Castiel’s voice had taken on a hard edge.   
“Then how exactly did you mean it, Dean?” he asked, blunt as a knife. “I was under the impression I was to stay at the bunker with you and Sam, and the next moment I am being told that I cannot and forced to find my own way in the world.”  
“There were...it’s complicated,” Dean said lamely, wishing with all of his heart he could just explain, but Castiel rose and faced away from him, arms folded.   
“Apparently everything about your life is complicated, Dean Winchester, because you use that excuse quite often to justify not explaining your motives.”  
The words stung, and Dean set his jaw, trying to think of a way to reply to what Cas had said that wasn’t going to send him turning around back to the Gas-N-Sip immediately. But if he really thought about it, Castiel was right. He was in such a mess right now. He couldn’t tell Sam about Ezekiel, which meant by default he couldn’t tell Castiel about Ezekiel, because Cas would see right through to his fallen brother, and Zeke to him, letting the cat out of the bag; Dean had dumped his best friend on the road with nothing but a cell phone, money, and a duffle bag filled with fake credit cards, clothes, and toiletries, and that at the word of an angel who he would have said piss off to less than one year ago…  
Dean realized he was getting a major migraine and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Castiel watched him out of the corner of his eye, and said quietly, “Perhaps it was a mistake for me to come. There is still time for me to leave without Sam knowing.”  
“Cas, you asshole, I want you here,” Dean blurted out, and for the first time in a long time, it was the only thing he’d said that felt right.   
They fell silent for long moments, until Dean found it too suffocating to bear and spoke again. “How much did Sam fill you in?”  
“Very little,” Castiel admitted. “He mentioned only that the case involved the reservation. I assume that means your progress is taking time.”  
“It is,” Dean agreed, and wondered how much he should tell him about what was really going on. Cas had seen his fair share of things-he was an angel, after all-but Dean wasn’t certain how he’d react to the news that a Native American god had apparently decided to place his seal of approval on him. Then again, maybe Castiel would be able to suss out the why behind it, including any awkward behind-the-scenes stuff regarding Andrew’s grandfather. Dean still wasn’t convinced that was as cut and dry as the Navajo made it seem.  
“How long are you planning on staying?” he asked instead, wondering what Andrew and the others had said when Cas first arrived.   
“It didn’t appear I was unwelcome,” Castiel replied, “but these people are guarded, Dean. Perhaps it is just their chosen way of life, but I sense that there is more than meets the eye.”  
“I’ve been feeling that way since we arrived,” Dean said grudgingly, “and every question we ask seems to get us nowhere. If they want our help, they have to let us in.” After a moment, he said hesitantly, “What about you?”  
Castiel looked at him, uncomprehending. “What about me?”  
“They’re not stupid, Cas. Do they know that you-I mean that you were…” Dean trailed off, and Castiel shook his head.  
“I’m not sure. If they do suspect, they haven’t mentioned it. I don’t see how they could. They’re perceptive and very open to other worlds, but that seems to be stretching things too far.”  
Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “The sooner we get this case over and done with, the better.”  
Castiel’s gaze pierced through Dean’s skin when he stood. “You’re keeping something from me.”  
 _Shit_. Well, this wasn’t where he wanted the conversation to go. Having a chat about Raven wasn’t high on Dean’s priority list at the moment. “Cas-”  
“Are you in danger?”  
“Not that I know of,” Dean hedged, and Cas stared sharply at him, unwilling to give an inch. At last Dean gave in and started to explain.  
“When Sammy and I first got out here, we weren’t really sure what to expect. Andrew filled us in the best he could, and from what he told us, it looks like we’ve been dealing with the god Raven. There’s not much you can do with Native American spirits except let them have their way, according to Andrew, because these people don’t deal in the same crap we do every day. It’s a totally opposite way of life and culture, with different standards and rules. Basically what it comes down to is that I apparently had some sort of night visit from Raven, and now Andrew and the elders think he’s marked me and I’ve got visions from him or something.”  
Castiel raised a slim brow. “Do you believe this?”  
Dean paused. “I don’t know. We were looking for a missing kid today, and I...just sort of knew where to go. I didn’t really have any clear direction, but it was like something led me right to him. He’s fine. Back with his parents tonight, probably doing his homework.”  
Castiel thought for a moment. “It may be that everything you have described is the truth.”  
“What does that mean for me, though?” Dean said, perhaps more anxiously than he wanted to admit. “If I am marked by Raven, what does that mean when I go back to what passes for a normal life for me and Sam? How is that going to affect me? I’m not cut out for visions and all this crap, Cas. I’m a hunter. Hunters don’t experience that shit, or if they do, there’s something else wrong.”  
Castiel’s expression was reserved, but his words were unable to be ignored, slamming into Dean with the force of a Mack truck.  
“What frightens you more, Dean-that you won’t be used for a greater purpose, or that you will, and in doing so, somehow you will fail?”  
*  
Sam was up early the next morning, before the stars had winked out of the sky. It was still quiet on the reservation-most of the community was still asleep, and would be for another hour or so at least-but the younger Winchester had a bone to pick with a certain god.  
Heading east, he found a predetermined spot he’d come across the day before and unrolled the small bag he’d brought with him, which contained summoning elements, even though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was going to need them. After all, this was Raven he was planning on speaking with-a Native American god that was revered and respected, not a lowly demon that required binding in one place to keep it in check.  
The audacity of what he was planning gave Sam chills, but since they seemed to be getting nowhere fast on their own, the next best thing was to interact with the deity one-on-one.   
His preparation complete, Sam sat cross-legged on the ground and drew a breath, trying to release his nerves. Dean really should have been the one looking for answers, but as usual, his brother seemed content to not deal with the issue at hand, and they couldn’t afford to waste any more time.  
Before Sam could even begin to think about how he was going to go about talking with Raven, footsteps were heard behind him. Being as stealthy as possible, Sam slipped his hand into his belt and curled his fingers around the knife he’d “borrowed” from Dean (which his brother could go after him later for). It was far too early for anyone to be following him. He had to have been tracked, which was generally never a good sign.  
“Who’s there?” he called softly.  
“That would depend upon who you are seeking.”  
The voice was male, and Sam’s hand tightened on the knife. “Why are you following me?” he challenged without turning around, but ready at a moment’s notice to defend himself.  
“I am not the one that has ventured into the dawn to speak with a god he deems untrustworthy.”  
Sam froze at that, his heart thundering madly in his ears, and swallowed hard. “You’re Raven.”  
The footsteps sounded like they circled him, but then almost became like wingbeats. “You sound unconvinced.”  
Sam twisted around halfway, attempting to see the figure, but the wingbeats increased, scattering dirt so that he was forced to shield his face from the blowing sand. Apparently Raven didn’t want to be looked at-Sam could take a hint. Instead, he asked, “Why did you mark my brother?”  
There was no answer for a while, and then Raven’s voice came again. “He has seen much. There is no greater honor than for a man to use that which he has been given.”  
“Dean would argue that most of what he’s been given is a hard hand,” Sam said as tactfully as he could. “He doesn’t feel like he’s worthy of being your messenger-or even that he’s ready to accept that gift.”  
“That is not for him to decide.” Raven’s voice was calm and didn’t seem to leave room for any arguments. “His ways are not ours.”  
“We could say the same about you,” Sam countered, and was met by what felt like stony silence. Undeterred, he pressed on.   
“We aren’t part of your culture or your people. We come from a different way of life and an unrelated way of looking at the world and how it works. My brother and I have witnessed things that would make most men and women question their sanity, and all we’re trying to do here is keep them from invading where they aren’t welcome. But we can’t do that if we don’t know what we’re fighting.”  
“You do not trust me.” Raven sounded almost amused, and Sam bit back the real reply he wanted to give, saying only, “I don’t have a reason to mistrust you. All I’m asking is that you’re patient with us. Dean’s confused right now and just needs time.”  
“And what of you? You do not seem aware of your own power.”  
The words sent a fierce rush of electricity traveling under Sam’s skin, as though he’d been shocked, and he leapt to his feet almost without his knowledge, hardly aware that he’d backed away from the presence of the god.  
“What do you mean, ‘my own power’?” he said, breath catching painfully in his chest at the words, and Raven laughed.  
“Perhaps you should be looking inward for that answer.”  
Before Sam could demand further answers of Raven, he found himself very much alone. Skin tingling and mind reeling with more questions than answers, he pushed himself to his feet and returned the way he had come, determined to seek Dean out the moment he had the chance.   
*  
“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”  
Dean smirked at his brother’s bleary-eyed gaze in his direction as they sat in the Community Center, wondering when Sam had gone to bed the night before. “Late night, I’m guessing.”  
“More like early morning,” Sam mumbled, dragging two sugar packets over and dumping them in his steaming cup of coffee. His brother raised a brow at that, lowering his voice.   
“Oh? Find anything out that might help us?”  
“Only that Raven apparently likes to play games as much as anyone else and seems to think I’m hiding something under my skin.” The words left Sam in a jumbled, tired rush, and Dean suddenly felt sick.  
“What are you talking about?” he asked numbly, and Sam’s eyes were filled with dull accusation as they met his own.  
“I don’t know, Dean. I spoke with the god this morning and he said I wasn’t aware of my own power. What does that sound like to you? I have no idea what he means, so obviously you haven’t been telling me something.”  
“Sam-”  
“And another thing,” his brother went on without pause, almost as if he hadn’t heard Dean’s attempt at an interruption, “when Raven let slip that fact that I’m obviously a walking juice factory, I felt like I’d been electrocuted and just wanted to get away from him. Does any of this sound normal to you?”  
Dean had no words, because he couldn’t deny anything that Sam was saying. He’d been afraid that somehow this was what would happen, and now here it was-how to deal with the issue of an angel riding unwelcome shotgun in his brother’s body while they were still in the middle of a case. He hadn’t wanted to tackle the problem until he knew for sure what to say and how to say it, but now it looked like he had no choice-and if there was one thing Dean Winchester hated, it was being backed into a corner.  
“No, it’s not normal,” was all he said, tightly, and Sam’s jaw line set.   
“Then you aren’t denying that you haven’t been totally honest with me?”  
“Yes, okay, Sam? I’ve been lying to you. There’s-something else is going on here, but this isn’t the time or the place to discuss it, okay?”  
“Of course not,” Sam said, pushing his coffee away, and Dean was stunned and hurt at his next words. “The _time and place_ to hash that out would have been at the church, but oh, wait, we did that already. I guess we just can’t keep our promises to each other, can we?”  
“Sam, it’s not like that-”  
“Yes, it is, Dean. It always will be.” Sam’s gaze was filled with dark, bitter regret, and Dean looked away, unable to bear the weight of it.  
“Good morning.”  
The soft voice made Dean look up, and he found Laura standing by the table, an unsure expression on her face. _God damn it, how much did she hear?_  
“I’m sorry to intrude,” she began hesitantly, “but I was hoping to speak with the both of you. Although if this is not a good time…” She trailed off, obviously sensing something in the air between the brothers, but Dean shook his head.  
“If we need to hear it, it can’t wait.”  
She looked troubled, but after a moment pulled out the chair next to Sam and sat, her hands folded tightly in front of her. When she began to speak, her voice was soft.  
“My people have long been a part of this earth. We have many tales of existence and belonging, and there are many different ways in which we thrive. Telling stories is one of them. From the earliest days of creation until now, we have not ceased to record what happens in our lives. This has most often been done with the use of the mouth, but over time, as you know, those stories can become garbled and polluted.”  
“Like playing Telephone,” Sam supplied, and Laura looked at him before nodding.  
“Yes. When a story is passed down, details can be altered unintentionally-or intentionally,” she added, and at last Dean started to see something of what she might be getting at.  
“In other words,” he said quietly, “something can be heard so many times, it sounds like the truth even if it’s a lie.”  
Sam’s gaze met Dean’s briefly, and then he spoke.   
“Laura, how much do you really know about Andrew Five Waters?”  
Dean watched as Laura’s expression turned slightly mulish, and the gears began to click in his head. From the look in his brother’s eyes, he knew Sam was getting the full picture too.  
“He is a good man,” she said staunchly, and Dean nodded. “Okay, I get that. But I meant his history. Familial, social, career-related, personal-that sort of thing.”  
Laura’s mouth opened, and then, slowly, she closed it again with a frown. “I...don’t know. His grandfather was Joseph Black Wolf, a great Navajo chief, but he has never talked about anyone else.”  
Sam threw Dean a look. “And everything else we mentioned?” he prodded.  
“Andrew has never said,” she admitted. “He is very private.”  
“Laura, are there any records on Joseph Black Wolf?” Dean asked, and Laura’s brow furrowed.   
“There must be...but I have never seen them,” she acknowledged. “To be honest, I don’t understand why. Family records are always open to our people.”  
Dean had heard enough for the moment. “Laura, I need you to see if you can get us clearance to look for Joseph Black Wolf in the town hall files,” he said. “In the meantime, my brother and I are going to do some research of our own.”  
Laura rose with them, her expression troubled once more. “Do you believe there’s sinister activity going on?” she asked.  
Dean looked at her, trying to decide how to say it. At last he decided truth was best.   
“We don’t know yet. But if there is, it’s going to be stopped before it wrecks the lives of everyone involved.”  
*  
“So, Dean, what can I do for you? Been a long time since John Winchester’s oldest looked me up.”  
Dean shifted the phone around on his shoulder as he thumbed rapidly through his father’s journal. “I wouldn’t normally call, but this is a special occasion, Dennis.”  
“Well, tell me what you need.”  
“Dad hunted a wendigo with you once-nasty one too, if I remember. I was still pretty young; way I remember it I couldn’t have been thirteen yet. I’m calling because Sam and I are working a case on reservation land, and we’re getting the red tape every way we turn. What’s worse, we’re pretty sure something else is going on that’s got nothing to do with tribal law and culture.”  
Dennis sounded cautious. “You sure you got all your information correct? I’m part of the Coast Salish people, Dean, but the general idea is the same: you insult us and you’re pretty much screwed for life. Make sure you know what you’re getting into before you leap ahead and call foul.”  
“That’s why I’ve got you on the line.” Dean stopped as he found the page he was looking for. “I need to know everything you do about Coyote’s weaknesses.”  
“Coyote?” Dennis said in surprise. “The trickster god? I thought you said Raven was involved in this.”  
“He is, but everything Laura told Sam and me seems like it’s the work of Coyote. Twisting truth, making mischief, causing trouble for everyone he comes into contact with-it’s all there, and unfortunately all the evidence seems to be pointing to the guy who asked us to come out and work the case in the first place.”  
“No, stop there,” Dennis ordered sternly. “I understand you’re frustrated and want to finish this job, Dean, but listen to what I tell you: you cannot approach this man and accuse him of being a trickster god. First, you have no concrete proof. Second, it’s considered the utmost disrespect to slander someone’s name without good cause, and it’ll get you a one-way ticket off their land without so much as a wave goodbye. Third, I hate to be stating the obvious, but you’re a white man, Dean. Marked by Raven, perhaps, yes, but still a white man. They will never fully trust you, and as sad as that is, it’s not their fault. They’ve had years to learn the hard way.”  
“I had another thought,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly, “but it’s crazy.”  
“I’ve heard all kinds. Tell me.”  
“Demonic involvement,” Dean said wryly, and Dennis sighed.   
“I don’t know what kind of demon would want to get into this kind of sandbox, but anything’s possible, I guess. Keep me updated, will you?”  
“Yeah. Hey, before you go-one more question.”  
“Shoot.”  
“Navajo legend is pretty well-known, right? Especially in hunter circles?”  
“Yeah. Why?”  
“The whole reason we were asked to come out to the reservation is because this Andrew guy is the grandson of a chief Dad saved years ago. His name was Joseph Black Wolf. Ring a bell?”  
Dennis’ reply sent what felt like ice water crashing throughout the other man’s soul.  
“Dean, I know the name of almost every good man and hunter who ever did a good deed for a Native American. Your father was both, but in all my years I’ve never once heard of Joseph Black Wolf.”  
*  
Dean found Sam as soon as he hung up the phone with the other hunter, pulling his brother aside.   
“We’ve got a problem,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, and only then noticed that the eyes looking back at him weren’t exactly Sam’s.  
Oh, crap.  
“Do we really have to do this now?” Dean muttered tightly, but Ezekiel’s words were sharp.  
“There is indeed a problem. My presence is near to being detected. More to the point, why is my brother Castiel present in this place?”  
Dean really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture at the moment, least of all from an angel possessing his sick brother, and so he couldn’t quite bring himself to care that his reply was short and harsh.  
“Look, Zeke. Having Cas here isn’t going to blow the whistle on you. He doesn’t even know that you’re inside Sam, so he’s not going to suspect anything. And I don’t know what you mean, your ‘presence is near to being detected’. No one’s said anything.”  
“Did your brother not divulge to you his meeting with Raven?” Ezekiel said furiously. “The god knows I reside in Sam.”  
“So he knows,” Dean argued. “What makes you think it’s a big deal?”  
Ezekiel’s expression grew hard. “Your brother is not yet well,” he said coldly. “Need I remind you-again-that if he were to expel me, he would die?”  
“You remind me every chance you get,” Dean spat. “Believe me, I’m well aware. Calm down. We’ll solve the case and get the hell out of Dodge, and no one will be any the wiser, all right? Now just...put Sam back in control, okay? Please.”  
It took another moment, but Sam was staring at Dean again. “Where have you been?” he asked, and Dean mentally shook himself. Playing tag between Ezekiel and Sam was exhausting.  
“On the phone with one of Dad’s hunter friends from Oregon. He’s part of one of the tribes up there, and Sam, something’s definitely rotten. He said he remembers every hunter that ever helped out a Native American, and this guy has never heard of Joseph Black Wolf.”  
“Then Andrew has to be lying,” Sam said, but Dean shook his head.  
“Dennis said to be careful; make sure we have all the facts before we accuse anyone of anything. I told him I was wondering if it could be demonic activity.”  
Sam frowned. “What would a demon want way out here?”  
“I don’t know. Have you heard from Laura? Did she manage to dig anything up?”  
“I was just going to the Community Center to meet with her,” Sam said. “We’d planned to be there around this time to discuss what she’d found, if anything.”  
“Then let’s go. Considering what Dennis just told me, I want to know too.”  
As they got closer to the Center, the brothers noticed a sizeable group of people milling around the building, and perhaps what was worse, Navajo Nation Police SUVs clustered out front. A large area had been cordoned off by yellow police tape, and as Dean peered over the mass of heads, he saw the one thing he’d been hoping to miss: a coroner’s truck.   
“Sam,” was all he said, and his brother’s expression grew grim.  
They found Lone Wolf standing with Andrew and Black Crow near the back of the crowd. All of them appeared stricken.  
“What happened?” Dean asked, even though he was pretty sure he didn’t really want to know.  
“The girl, Laura,” Lone Wolf said numbly. “Her body was discovered in the basement of the Center earlier.”  
“What’s down there?” Sam asked, but Dean already knew what the answer would be.  
“It is where the family records of the Nation are stored,” Lone Wolf replied, and lead settled in Dean’s gut. Whatever Laura had been looking for, it was worth murdering her to cover up.  
*  
“Now what?” Dean said grimly later that evening at the pueblo, pacing back and forth.  
“Whatever Laura found was obviously big enough to warrant murdering her. I’m just as eager as you are to know what it was, but this place is crawling with law enforcement now, Dean, and they’re the reservation’s police. I don’t see how we’re going to get any information without arousing suspicion or making waves.”  
Disgusted, Dean threw up his hands. “Then what? We sit on our asses until someone else is killed?”  
Sam just gave him a helpless look, and then Dean’s cell phone began to ring. Snatching it off the night table, Dean flipped it open.  
“Hello-?”  
“Dean, it’s Dennis.”  
“Dennis, hey. What’s up?”  
“Remember how you asked me if the name Joseph Black Wolf rang any bells? I told you no initially, but I’ve been doing some digging. Turns out it does, but I don’t think you’re going to like how.”  
“Things can’t get any worse right now, Dennis, believe me. What’ve you got?”  
“Back in nineteen ninety-two, there were a string of wild, random murders in the same area you and your brother are at now. They had everyone from the locals to the law stunned and scared, and with no culprit, things only got worse the longer they remained unsolved. Even the few hunters that were investigating didn’t have a damn clue what was going on, and we’re talking about ones that had been in the life over thirty years. Well, eventually your father got wind of all this, and he couldn’t sit by and watch innocent people get slaughtered if he could find some way to stop it. He came down and stayed for weeks, talking to anyone and everyone he could find, going to crime scenes, examining bodies, the whole nine yards. There was one name that kept cropping up every time he asked about anything strange happening before the victims died. I’ll let you fill in the blank.”  
“Joseph Black Wolf,” Dean said grimly.  
“Bingo. Apparently he was a half-blood Native American that lived off the reservation-father was white, mother was Cherokee-that was into stuff the tribes stayed the hell away from him for, and I’m not talking about your ritual use of peyote, here. They say he communed regularly with dark forces, spoke in languages they had never heard, committed evil blood sacrifices-are you getting the picture?”  
Dean certainly was. “Sounds like this guy was a real treat.”  
“Your dad paid him a visit, Dean. He left three hours afterward with the problem solved, but he was barely hanging on to his life. I took him in and nursed him back to health, and a month later he returned to you and Sam.”  
Dean’s legs gave out, and he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. “That’s where Dad was for all that time? He never did go into it, even years later.”  
“Yeah. And Dean, I’ve been watching for signs-it’s starting to look like someone’s been trying to resurrect Black Wolf.”  
 _You’re fucking kidding me._ “Who would have the power to do that? No one on this reservation is into that kind of stuff. They’re all peaceful people, from what Sam and I can tell.”  
“All of them? There’s no one that has ulterior motives? Not even in the slightest?”  
“Dennis, I thought you told me not to pass judgment before I had all the facts,” Dean said, and Dennis chuckled wryly.  
“Yeah, well, now you have all the facts,” he said, “so go do what you have to do.” The dial tone sounded in Dean’s ear, and he was left staring at it half in consternation, half amusement.  
“What?” Sam asked, and Dean sighed.  
“I think we might have just found a reason to start asking some really uncomfortable questions.”  
*  
Castiel was up with the dawn the following morning, watching the sun slowly creep over the bluffs. He’d slept poorly the night before, having been unable to stop thinking about Laura. The woman had only been trying to help them solve a mystery. It wasn’t the first time that an innocent bystander had been killed for their involvement in a case, but Castiel couldn’t push away the nagging sense of guilt in his chest-perhaps because this time, he was mortal, and seeing things from an entirely different perspective.  
“It’s been said that every day is an opportunity to start fresh.”  
Drawn from his reverie, Castiel glanced over to see the man he remembered being introduced to as Andrew Five Waters standing by his side. He wondered if Andrew was referring to Laura’s death and the ensuing steps everyone would now have to take to return to normal.  
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.  
“Laura was a special woman,” Andrew smiled sadly. “The gods sometimes favor certain individuals, and I believe that was the case with her. There was nothing she couldn’t do if she set her mind to it; no one she seemed to be unable to help. Her heart was always open, and her words were never unkind. It’s a tragedy that she’s gone.”  
“How did she die?” Castiel asked, very carefully. Of course, he knew the probable reason she had been murdered-because of her interest in the family records of Joseph Black Wolf-but little about the actual cause.  
Andrew, Castiel noticed immediately, seemed to hedge around the question when answering.  
“I’m not entirely sure. None of us are, really; law enforcement isn’t saying much. They only told us that her body was found in the basement of the Community Center.”  
Castiel found his response a bit odd. He knew that the Navajo Nation Police were more apt to keep their people informed than the law enforcement he was used to seeing, especially since the murder had happened on their own land. But in general, he didn’t trust the man. He didn’t exactly know how to describe it, but something deep inside him recoiled whenever Andrew came near. He might have been a developing hunter’s instinct, but Castiel was more likely to believe that it was simply the fact that something in Andrew was just not...right.   
“I’m assuming that it wasn’t normal for her to be down there.”  
“No, it wasn’t.” For just a moment, something dark flickered in Andrew’s eyes, but it had vanished so quickly that Castiel was left wondering if he’d imagined it. “None of us know why she would be going through the family records of the Nation, or why she felt she had to keep it a secret.”  
Castiel blinked. “She didn’t tell anyone she would be searching them? Is that significant?”  
“At the moment, yes,” Andrew replied. “We’re a very close-knit community. Much, if not everything, about us is common knowledge. The records are there for government filing purposes, mostly. For anyone to feel that they need to keep back a part of themselves means that they’re ashamed of something in their past; something that’s unresolved. If Laura was looking for something that none of us knew about, then someone here has something they want to keep buried.”  
“Do you think they would resort to murder for it to remain so?” Castiel asked, and Andrew turned serious eyes on him.  
“I think that question’s already been answered.”  
*  
“Are you sure about this, Dean?”  
Dean spared his brother a brief glance as he pushed open the door of the abandoned pueblo. “Dennis gave us these coordinates. I don’t exactly get any good feelings from walking into this place either, but we don’t have much choice if we want to figure out what’s going on here.”  
Sam suppressed a shiver as a few cobwebs dangling from the ceiling brushed his face, and he followed Dean throughout the rooms, not finding much other than emptiness, cold, and gloom, but he couldn’t shake the sense that there were eyes watching his every move. As he passed through the kitchen, the dark corners made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he paused, a Latin exorcism on the tip of his tongue, though how much good it would do in this place, he wasn’t entirely sure.  
“Hey, Sam, come look at this.”  
Dean’s voice drifted to him from the back of the pueblo, and Sam found him in what had once been a bedroom, standing by the south wall, fingers pressed into a groove in the wood.  
“What’d you find?” he asked, and Dean said, “I think there’s some sort of hidden panel here, if I can just-”  
There was a sudden click, and the entire top and bottom of the wall swung inward to reveal a passageway leading to the right, along with a gust of cool, damp air. Dean turned to Sam.  
“Want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes?”  
Sam tried not to dwell on the fact that his brother had just ripped a line from The Matrix, instead stepping down after him. The floor was a fine, loose dirt that rose up in clouds around the toes of their boots with every step, and Sam realized with a sudden chill that that meant any traces of their footprints were effectively being erased.  
Dean grimaced as he stumbled suddenly over something in their path, hand coming into contact with the wall. “Ugh,” he muttered, and wiped it on the leg of his jeans. “These things are bleeding moisture.”  
Even in the dim light, Sam could see the outline of where Dean had touched his pants, and his throat was suddenly very dry.  
“Dean,” he said thickly. “That’s not water.”  
Dean stared at him blankly, and Sam drew his penlight from his back pocket. When he flicked it on and its beam was cast upon the walls, the shadows caught his sickened gaze.  
Dark, ritualistic runes and spells had been drawn upon them in blood, and most appeared fresh, as though someone had been inside the passageway within the last twenty-four hours. Dean wiped his nonbloodied hand across the back of his mouth.  
“Fuck,” was all he said, and Sam swallowed down the bile that threatened to choke him.   
“This is human blood, Dean. Someone had to have been murdered to make these symbols.”  
“There’s been a murder in recent days,” Dean replied grimly, and his brother’s eyes lit with understanding.  
Sudden laughter filled the passageway, and Dean drew the knife from his belt in an instant, every hair on his skin standing up at the unearthly sound. He didn’t have to look at Sam to know that his brother was in a defensive stance.   
“Who’s there?” Dean called harshly.  
There was no answer, but the air was supernaturally charged with power. Gripping the hilt of the blade tighter, Dean spat, “Answer me!”  
A dark shadow flitted across his line of vision further down the passageway, and if it was possible, the air grew heavier with electricity until both brothers’ skin was tingling.   
“I don’t think that knife is going to be useful,” Sam said tightly, and as much as Dean hated to admit it, he knew Sam was right.  
They waited tensely, but there was no sound; no movement. Dean had almost decided that what had happened was a fluke-or some sort of reaction to discussing Laura’s murder in the presence of such heavy magick-when his brother was violently thrown down the passageway a good fifteen feet as though he were a rag doll, tumbling head over heels before coming to a stop, out cold.  
“Sam!” Dean yelled out in terror, but before he could go to his sibling’s aid, what felt like cold hands gripped his heart and began to squeeze.  
Dean gasped as the air was forced from his lungs. Vision blurring from lack of oxygen, he stumbled to the ground, his abused system screaming for relief.   
“Who-” he choked out.  
“ _T’l’éé’”,_ a brittle, rasping whisper answered, and then Dean knew no more.  
*  
Castiel frowned as he tried Dean’s cell phone for the fourth time and heard it go into voicemail. Something was not right. He was aware that the hunter and his brother had been planning to investigate a lead given to them by a friend of John’s concerning Joseph Black Wolf, but for Dean not to answer his cell phone at all, even for the space of a moment to say that things were progressing, was cause for concern.  
“Is everything all right?”  
Castiel looked up to see Andrew headed toward him, and quickly replaced his own phone in his pocket, pouring himself another cup of coffee from the pot in the Center’s kitchen, debating what to tell the Navajo. At last he said, “Is there a reason it shouldn’t be?”  
Andrew’s face was creased with worry. “I’m beginning to wonder, Castiel. Lone Wolf has not been seen for the entire afternoon.”  
Castiel met the other man’s gaze, something uncomfortable stirring in his belly. “Are you certain you aren’t overreacting?”  
“Not when he was meant to meet with White Cloud, Seven Stars, and the Nation Police earlier regarding Laura’s murder and the appropriate steps to take. He is an elder. He understands his duties and would never shirk them.” Andrew’s expression grew haggard. “I pray the gods nothing ill has happened.”  
Castiel set down his coffee, his jaw tight. “Dean Winchester has also been absent for quite some time, and I cannot reach him on his cell phone. His brother was with him, and I have not heard from him, either.”  
Andrew had already turned away toward the door. “Then why are we still here, and not searching for all three of them?”  
*  
“Dean. Dean, you must wake.”  
With a groan, Dean pulled himself from unconsciousness. His skull pounded with the force of a thousand drums, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust and stop seeing double of everything. When they focused, he saw his brother tied between two wooden poles, his arms stretched tight. But no, those weren’t Sam’s eyes, and crap, this really was not the time for Ezekiel to be playing peekaboo.  
“Where are we?” he said hoarsely. “And what took us?”  
“This place was made for sacrifices,” Ezekiel said matter-of-factly, and Dean swallowed as he noticed the same sigils and runes that had been on the walls of the passageway marking nearly every surface of the room they were currently in. They were also on the posts Ezekiel was tied to, and Dean had a very bad feeling about that. “It would appear that we are to be offered up as such.”  
“And this doesn’t bother you?” Dean snapped. “My brother is still in there, you douche!”  
“I cannot be harmed,” Ezekiel said simply. “Not by their methods. They do not know of angels, and therefore do not know how to injure or kill one.”  
“You’d better be right,” Dean growled, “but you still haven’t answered me. What nabbed us both?”  
“I do not know. Your brother was still in control of this body at the time. The attack brought me to the forefront when he was rendered unconscious. I did not see the creature.”  
“And you will not, until I summon him.”  
The voice was familiar, and Dean twisted around in his own bindings until he could find the source of the voice. When he did, his eyes narrowed.  
“You?” he said sharply. “You’re the one responsible for all this crap?”  
“Who but I would have power to complete the necessary rituals and totems? Who else could carry out such binding magick without consequence?”  
“Without consequence?” Dean snarled. “Laura is dead because of you, and that’s of no consequence?”  
Lone Wolf raised his chin, eyes glittering coldly. “She was a pure and innocent young woman, exactly the kind the last ritual required. Her blood was the necessary ingredient to raise him.”  
“Raise him?” Dean’s own blood was suddenly running very cold. “Raise who?”  
Lone Wolf smiled, much like a cat would when it had a canary caught in its trap. “Black Wolf, of course-although that is not his true name. It is what his human family gave him, and so he became for the time he remained on this earth-until your father, Dean Winchester, stole his life.” Lone Wolf’s voice took on a menacing edge.  
“Dad put him down like the rabid, mangy dog he was,” Dean spat carelessly, and Lone Wolf’s eyes flashed in fury.  
“Indeed? I see that you have no respect for that which holds more power than yourself. And yet your brother is one who wields much of that power.”  
Dean’s heart tripped on itself. “Leave Sam out of this,” he growled.  
Lone Wolf walked over to where Ezekiel stood bound, gazing into his eyes, completely ignoring Dean. “You,” he said softly, “are not of this world.”  
Ezekiel matched Lone Wolf’s gaze, but did not speak. An unfriendly smile crossed Lone Wolf’s lips.  
“You hold your silence well. Perhaps it will not be so when I have loosened both your Grace and your tongue.”  
At that, a flicker of fear passed in Ezekiel’s expression, and Lone Wolf laughed softly.   
“Oh, yes, I know what you are. The one I serve knows much, and divulges more. He will spare no expense to see you broken-all of you,” he added darkly.  
“What do you want?” Dean demanded, his throat dry and his mind racing wildly. If Lone Wolf succeeded in ripping out Ezekiel’s grace through a spell, Sam would die. Ezekiel had said he wasn’t strong enough to be on his own in his body yet.  
“What I want matters not,” Lone Wolf replied smartly, “but I confess I would dearly love to see you writhing in pain. And,” he smiled ferally, “I may yet have my wish.”  
*  
“You mean to tell me that everything I have ever believed is a lie?!”  
Castiel stood his ground, despite being faced with Andrew’s wrath. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “But nothing is adding up, Andrew. Joseph Black Wolf, your grandfather, had his life saved, but from what? No one ever told you when you asked, and when he died there wasn’t a body for you to bury. You don’t find either of those incidences odd? Laura did, so much so that she ventured into the basement of the Community Center to look for his records. Whatever she found, someone wanted to keep hidden, and so she was murdered for her search for the truth. Now Sam and Dean Winchester are missing, and one can only assume that it’s not in the name of good. When are you going to step out of the shadows and put a stop to the lies and misery in your history?”  
Andrew looked pained. He turned away and leaned heavily on the hood of his car, but at last he said slowly, “You said that Sam and Dean were following a lead on their case. Where would it have brought them?”  
Castiel shook his head. “The only thing I know for certain is that Dean spoke with a Coast Salish named Dennis who clued him into the discrepancies surrounding Joseph Black Wolf. He said little to me except that he was headed north.”  
“North?” Andrew repeated. “The only thing north of here is empty land. Unless…”  
“Unless what?” Castiel asked, catching the change in his tone at once.  
“Black Wolf once lived in that general area,” Andrew said. “Is it possible that Dean’s friend gave him directions to his old home as a means to tying the pieces together?”  
“It’s possible,” Castiel agreed quickly. “Andrew, would you remember where, exactly, Black Wolf’s home stood?”  
“I used to see him as a boy,” Andrew replied, “and though they were infrequent visits, I could still find the location today.”  
“Then let’s go,” Castiel demanded. “There is no time to waste.”  
*  
Ezekiel’s harsh breathing echoed in the room as Lone Wolf stepped back and smiled.  
“Now, let us try again,” he said. “The final ingredient for permanent bodily possession. Tell me where to find it.”  
“I do not know,” Ezekiel said weakly, and Lone Wolf folded his arms.  
“As you wish.”  
Dean flinched when Ezekiel started to cry out again at Lone Wolf’s spell. He didn’t know how much more of the angel’s painful sounds he could take. Even worse, he wasn’t sure how much more Sam could take without being in some serious trouble.  
“Please,” Ezekiel gasped. “I know nothing.”  
Suddenly Dean realized something monumental, and he began to laugh, unable to help himself. Lone Wolf turned irritable eyes on him.   
“What is so humorous?” he snapped.  
“He’s telling the truth, you know,” Dean chuckled. “He has no friggin’ idea where your damn spell ingredient is. But the funny thing is, neither does Black Wolf.”  
Lone Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”  
“Think about it,” Dean said calmly. “Do you think Black Wolf would have you doing all the legwork if he already had everything he needed? I don’t think so. He’d have just written your sorry ass off already, and you’d be somewhere in the sands of New Mexico with your blood on these walls.”  
“Watch your tongue, boy,” Lone Wolf spat. “You’re treading dangerous waters.”  
“I think I know something else, too,” Dean went on carelessly. The way he saw it, if they were going to die, he might as well say what he had to say and get it over with before they kicked the bucket. “Black Wolf needs me for something. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be breathing. He could have killed me in the passageway, and he didn’t do that, either.”  
Lone Wolf smiled predatorily at him, and Dean had the distinct feeling he’d just stepped in it big time.   
“For such an insolent man, you do have a useful head on your shoulders. You are needed, Dean Winchester. In fact, it is your blood that will resurrect Black Wolf.”  
Dean swallowed. “I thought you didn’t know where the final ingredient was.”  
“I don’t. But that does not matter, for now. The same bloodline that slew Black Wolf in life is needed to resurrect him from death. It will not be long before the last piece of the puzzle will fall into place to guarantee him a body for all time.”  
“What about my brother?” Dean bit out, and Lone Wolf chuckled.  
“I believe I can find a creative use for him before I deal with you.”  
*  
Castiel looked over his shoulder at Andrew, who was hesitating on the threshold of the house. “What’s wrong? We can’t hesitate much longer. Dean and Sam’s lives are at risk.”  
Andrew swallowed. “I understand. It’s only...when I enter this house, everything I once knew will change.”  
“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Castiel replied, as gently as he could. “Knowledge built on lies is no knowledge at all.”  
Andrew drew a breath and nodded, then followed Castiel. Nothing stood out to the other man, at least not until they reached the very last room.   
Castiel stopped, attempting to see with a hunter’s eyes, as Sam and Dean would have. What had they found, and where?  
He’d looked in every corner of the room before his gaze lit on a clinging mass of cobwebs in an upper corner of the ceiling. It shouldn’t have been unusual-the house had been abandoned for years, and was filled with them-but what was curious was the fact that said cobwebs were moving in a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere.   
“Andrew,” Castiel said, and the Navajo appeared at his side. Castiel pointed upwards. “Does that seem strange to you?”  
Andrew frowned. “There is a draft,” he said. “Is there a hidden compartment within the walls?”  
Castiel felt along the seams, searching for a spring or latch that would release said compartment, if indeed there was one to be had. After a moment, his fingers found a smooth area along the bottom edge that didn’t match the rest of the rough pine. On a hunch, he pressed on it.  
There was a click, and a door swung inwards. Castiel found himself staring at a long, drafty passage he was certain Dean and Sam had traveled earlier, and he turned to Andrew.   
Without a word shared, the two men stepped inside.   
*  
Dean struggled vainly in his bonds as Lone Wolf set up a makeshift altar, placing a bowl of smoking herbs on one end and, to Dean’s sick horror, an empty bowl in the middle, next to a very long, serrated knife.  
“Get the fuck away from me,” he said as Lone Wolf approached, although his words sounded slurred, and he was beginning to feel queasy and light-headed. He was willing to bet everything he had it was the herbs-some sort of drug to keep him pliant, he supposed.   
Lone Wolf only laughed. “You are serving a greater purpose. Your death will be swift.”  
Dean didn’t have the strength to fight as Lone Wolf unbound him and pulled him toward the altar. Casting a helpless glance at his brother’s form, he saw Ezekiel’s pale, sweat-stained face and knew the angel would be of no help in his weakened condition.  
 _I’m actually going to die this time, he thought._  
As Lone Wolf began to chant, the smoke from the herbs shimmered in Dean’s vision, and his head felt full. He slumped in Lone Wolf’s grip, hearing voices down the passageway.  
 _Wait. Voices?_  
“Dean!”  
*  
Castiel came to a skidding halt as he saw the hunter draped over the sacrificial bowl in none other than Lone Wolf’s grip. Beside him, Andrew inhaled sharply.  
“Lone Wolf,” he said in disbelief. “How is it that you have done this evil?”  
“I will spare no price to see Black Wolf rise,” Lone Wolf spat, and raised the knife to Dean’s throat.  
Immediately Castiel leapt forward, slamming into Lone Wolf with all the force he could muster. The man staggered backward, losing his grip on Dean, who groggily stumbled away from the table.   
Lone Wolf brandished the knife, fire in his eyes.  
“I will not watch that which I have built crumble before my sight,” he hissed, and lashed out.  
Castiel sidestepped quickly, but having no weapon of his own, he was in a dangerous predicament. Lone Wolf knew it, and for many minutes the two circled each other in a deadly dance, until Lone Wolf saw his opening, and lunged.  
Castiel tucked and rolled, coming to his feet on the other side of Lone Wolf, desperate in the face of Lone Wolf’s oncoming rage. Seeing the herbs, he grabbed a fistful and threw it in Lone Wolf’s face.  
Lone Wolf gave a ragged cry, wildly clawing at his eyes, and Castiel took that opportunity to wrench the knife from his grasp, placing the tip at his throat.   
“It is over,” Castiel said simply. “You will face justice for what you’ve done.”  
“I will not see defeat,” Lone Wolf replied stoically; coldly, and before anyone could stop him, he had impaled himself on the blade.  
Castiel let go of the hilt, turning away from the sight of Lone Wolf’s body, and instead to Dean, who was leaning on Andrew.   
“Are you hurt?” he asked, perhaps with more emotion in his voice than usual.  
Dean shook his head slowly. “No. But Eze-Sam’s not doing well,” he said quickly.  
Indeed, Sam looked terrible. A sheen of sweat coated his face, and he was far too pale. Taking Dean’s knife, Castiel cut the bindings holding him in place, supporting him as he sagged with a hiss of pain.  
“Can you walk, Sam?” Castiel asked.  
The gaze that was leveled on him shook Castiel to his core, for he knew it very well. Wordlessly, he slid an arm around the broad shoulders he had come to know, and turned to Andrew.  
“What will become of Black Wolf now?” he asked.  
“Lone Wolf is dead,” Andrew replied, “and since he was the binding link for Black Wolf to this earth, his power will dissipate. Once we return Sam and Dean to the reservation and notify the Nation Police of Lone Wolf’s death, I will return and perform a cleansing ritual to rid Black Wolf completely of this world.”  
As they headed back down the passageway, Castiel gazed at Dean’s back. How long had the hunter been kept in the dark, he wondered? Worse, what did it truly mean for Sam?  
*  
Dean winced as he shifted on the bed, his muscles sore from the ordeal of being tied up and dragged. At least Sam was asleep, he thought, glancing over at his brother’s stretched-out form on the other bed. It had been a monster of a case.  
He was seriously contemplating going after the flask of whiskey in his duffel when there was a soft knock at the pueblo door. Dean rose stiffly and opened it to find Castiel on the stoop.  
“Hey, Cas. What’s up?”  
“We need to talk.”  
Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now?”  
“Yes. Now.”  
Irritably, Dean sighed, shutting the door behind hiim. “Fine. What’s wrong?”  
Castiel’s gaze was deep in a way it hadn’t been since he’d first come to Dean all those years ago as an angel in a small barn situated in Pontiac, Illinois. It made the hunter nervous even before he started to speak.  
“How much has Ezekiel told you about your brother’s condition?”  
“What? How do you-why are you-”  
“Never mind how or why. Answer me.”  
Dean blinked. “Uh. Okay, not much, just that Sam isn’t strong enough to be on his own in his body yet, and that if he is he’s going to die. Zeke said that he’s still trying to heal him, but it’s a slow process.”  
Castiel turned away to look up at the stars. “And you believe this.”  
“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”  
“Because I looked into the face of my brother today, Dean. And it was not Ezekiel.”  
Dean’s stomach bottomed out. “What?”  
Castiel met his gaze again. “I know the face of every angel that has ever been created, Dean. The face I saw was not the face of Ezekiel. It was that of Gadreel.”  
“Gadreel?” Dean repeated. “Who the fuck is Gadreel?”  
“A disobedient angel,” Castiel replied, and Dean scrubbed a hand over his face.   
“My brother has a rebellious angel playing hitchhiker inside of him?” he said tightly, and Castiel said softly, “Gadreel shirked his duty as guardian of Eden. I do not believe he means you harm.”  
“But you’re not sure.”  
Castiel sighed. “I know little of Gadreel, Dean. I did not have time to form an opinion of him. However, until I do, for your own well-being and that of your brother’s, I would advise you to watch your step. And do not betray that you know he is not Ezekiel. Play it safe.”  
Dean drew a breath. “Okay. We’re leaving in the morning, so when we get back to the bunker, I can try to figure this all out.”  
Castiel nodded, turning to go.  
“Hey, Cas?”  
Castiel looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”  
Dean bit his lip. “Gadreel wouldn’t harm Sam, would he?”  
Castiel’s answering silence didn’t comfort Dean in the least.  
*  
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”  
Dean glanced over at Sam as they sped along the highway back to Lebanon. “What?”  
Sam shook his head. “You’ve been quiet for the last twenty miles. You haven’t even put on the radio, and man, that’s just not you.”  
“I’m just thinking about the case, Sam. It was a difficult one to handle. I guess I’m just still wound up.”  
“Okay.”  
Aggravated, Dean snapped, “Okay what?”  
Sam put up his hands. “Okay, as in, ‘okay’. I’m not gonna argue with you. If you say it’s just the case, then it’s just the case. I know better than to push you.”  
They were silent for a while, and then Dean admitted quietly, “I’m worried about you, Sam.”  
Sam looked at him. “I’ve told you a thousand times I’m fine, Dean.”  
Dean stared out the windshield, Castiel’s words ringing in his head.  
 _Play it safe._  
“I know you are,” he said at last. “I’m your brother, though, you know?” He flashed a smile. “It’s my job to worry about you.”  
Sam gave him a small smile in return. “I can take care of myself. But I do appreciate it, Dean. I know you’re always going to be there to look out for me.”  
“Yeah, all right, can we quit the touchy-feely crap now?” Dean leaned down to rifle through his cassettes.   
Sam snorted. “Jerk.”  
“Bitch.”


End file.
